


team;

by polynomials



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynomials/pseuds/polynomials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't quite the reunion either of them would ever expect. Not that they ever expected to see each other again, after the disbanding of WINNER, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	team;

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a few sentences in a fit of frenzy, and the ideas continued to pour out. I'll try my best to deliver them, though I formally apologize for my limited writing skill.

Kang Seungyoon studies the cloudless sky above, pencil twirling rhythmically in hand, waiting for inspiration to strike. When is left rather disappointed with the lack of productivity on paper, he checks his wristwatch and gathers the music sheets, securing them in his notebook, then placing everything neatly into the leather briefcase. As he departs the park bench, he takes one last look at sky, admiring the golden streaks against the clear azure background.

Perhaps it’s the pleasant weather that prompts his yearning for some fresh air. He gets off the subway a few stops before his final destination and saunters around the foreign neighborhood spontaneously. A few turns around the corner later, he decides that he might as well pick up some grocery, and thus wanders into a convenient store nearby.

It’s typically busy at this hour with many looking for pseudo-dinners and packs of instant foods, along with the ceaseless stream of students scouting for caffeinated drinks before heading to cram schools. Seungyoon walks to the dairy section. As he’s carefully checking the expiration date on a milk carton, he feels something colliding with his foot before bouncing off. Next he notices a little girl with pigtails running towards him, faltering when their eyes meet.

He stoops down to pick up the purple rubber ball and holds it towards her, flashing a welcoming smile as if saying, “Here you go.” The girl takes the ball then gives Seungyoon a bow of gratitude, before hopping back happily towards her father—a man in white t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans—who’s just emerged out from one of the aisles whilst calling her name. Seungyoon watches them with delight.

Yet as the man approaches him to deliver an apology, Seungyoon gets a peculiar shiver down his spine. He regards the stranger’s build and features with such familiarity that suggests they might have crossed one another’s path more than just once or twice. It’s only when a smile, embarrassed yet warm and contagious, appearing on his lips that Seungyoon realizes that they _have_ , indeed, met before. He remarks the stranger with a wide-eyed look, accompanied by a furrow of the brows, barely registering in his apology and only managing to address him properly after a long pause:

 

“Nam Taehyun.”

 

*

 

He has not been so incredibly nervous for as long as he can remember. His throat is going to overdry, hands working the button on his collar so as to breathe more comfortably. His feet are itchy beneath the small coffee table, and his gaze lingers on the the faded, pistachio green door, wondering if mannerly conducts are overrated; and if he could make it to the entrance in time were he to bolt right now?

This was—ostensibly—evidently— _positively_ —not a very good idea.

However, Seungyoon regains his composure when he hears the approaching footsteps that are shortly followed by a clattering noise besides him, and notices two coffee mugs, a box of green tea, and a grey thermos appearing on the table. He scootches over on the couch to make some room for the additional figure, but the man does not notice and settles in the chair opposite instead (Seungyoon hovers a hand over his face in hope of hiding his cheeks tinged of embarrassment).

“I hope you like green tea,” says Taehyun as he puts a tea bag into one of the mugs.

“If it’s not any trouble,” manages Seungyoon without stammering, for which he is somewhat pleased with himself.

“Not at all.” Taehyun uncaps the thermos and pours hot water into the cup. “It’s the one of the few things we have plenty of.”

Seungyoon watches the curls of steam rising up slowly into the afternoon air, visible against bars of sunbeams falling onto the wooden surface of the coffee table. Not knowing what else to say, he accepts the cup quietly when Taehyun hands it to him.

Both seem quite desperate to free themselves from the dreadful awkwardness, yet—ironically—not enough to outdrive the mutual stubbornness and determination to avoid exchanging eye contact.

 

This isn’t quite the reunion either of them would ever expect. Not that they ever expected to see each other again, after the disbanding of WINNER, for that matter.

 

The sudden disappearance of vocalist Nam Taehyun sent all into a stir. Reporters quickly made many coverages of the news (although some versions varied considerably from others). Fans expressed their sincere sorrow and worry to the band and its missing member. Many charity events were launched in joint effort between the community and the police force to spread awareness of the investigation of the matter. But perhaps the most restless of all was the subject of this unwanted spotlight: WINNER themselves—for the day before all saw Taehyun excusing himself to his room; and though he remained inside since, no-one made anything of it, thinking he was simply tired. Then the next morning came, and they woke up like deers in headlights with one less body in the dorm. Frenzy was upon them when none successfully contacted Taehyun by any means: his phone was out of service, and nobody, not even his friends nor family, knew where he was.The press pried their way into the story some hours later, and everything escalated from heated debate to distressed door slamming and fingers pointing out of frustration between the members, until all spiraled out of control. It was rather disheartening for them, who—for upteen times—had to conceal the depth of their concern with the calm and controlled image (dubbed as “professionalism” and “cold-hearted” by the press at the same time) and patiently answered the same agonizing question posed by the public (who, ironically, also theorized that such tragic an event was yet another cheap attempt to draw attention).

Coming back one day was anything but good news; and the deadlock of the investigation was made public within hours. There was a ceremony held for Taehyun, but its location was kept secret so no-one knew of its guests, contents, nor duration. WINNER, or rather what remained of them, continued their activities for another year before officially breaking up, each opted to pursue his own solo career.

 

So when Kang Seungyoon ran into Nam Taehyun 13 years later, it was rather understandable that his mind just shut off, completely vacant of any thoughts, as posing prolongedly unanswered questions would have, perhaps, arisen too many unpleasant memories.

It took Taehyun a little longer than Seungyoon to register in the bemusement of the situation. When he finally recognized that pair of eyes hidden behind the silver spectacles, his smile was replaced with a look of rather regret than disbelief—an expression which, together with the silence following Seungyoon’s uncertain words, confirmed all doubt that Nam Taehyun was, after all, still here. In flesh and bones. Un-vanished.

As if appearing out of thin air.

Nonetheless, when Taehyun offered Seungyoon a visitation to his place for a drink, it was, of course, out of courtesy (and, were he to be frank, an attempt to break up the awkward meeting). Yet to his surprise, the other agreed. And now here they are: sitting across from one another in the tiny living room of his cramped apartment, both scatter-minded and too hesitant to say anything.

 

And silence pools in like strong streams, new wave overlapping with the former.

 

They resort to the sight of the little girl doodling in her notebook nearby as a mutual point of view to relieve the suffocatingly heavy atmosphere.

The kid, on the other hand, seems enthused when she’s aware of her audiences. Her hands motion faster, speeding up the coloring, making every transition from the sketchbook to the box of worn and paper-torn crayons more precisely with unwavering concentration. She rushes to her father’s side to show off her masterpiece as soon as she’s finished, the eagerness visible on her face soon replaced with glee when Taehyun checks it out with adoration via a complimentary kiss on her forehead.

During the last of glances he quietly takes at the two profiles across, Seungyoon is caught off guard with implausible blueness—one more severe than which he’s familiarized himself with on multiple occasions. He diverts his focus to the rising steam of the cup, then to his hands, entwining them together and tightening the gaps between fingers until they’re numb, his joints aching as he loosens his muscles.

He does not notice the pigtailed girl when she left her father’s embrace, nor when she has, in fact, moved right next to him. It’s only when something obscures the vision of his palms that he diverts his attention from his thoughts back to reality, realizing that the girl is extending the drawing towards him with two hands. Noticing Taehyun is also watching this tradeoff out of the corner of his eyes, he receives the sheet and examines it.There are three people in the picture. The little girl has managed to capture each’s features nicely, making it rather easy to distinguish who from who. Taehyun, with his parted, short hair and slanted eyebrows, stands to the far right in casual clothes—black V-neck with jeans and sneakers—topped with an old apron. In the middle is the girl: pigtailed, smaller in size in comparison to the men. She has on a white dress with red polka-dots (which, from later inquiries, are revealed to be cherry print) and pink ribbons in her hair. Then there’s Seungyoon himself: in gigantic spectacles and his current outfit (a long-sleeved shirt with black khaki pants), his hair dark-colored with many strands pointing different directions; one hand securing a purple ball, and a briefcase in the other. Underneath is a line, written in fancy script and enveloped with pink drawings of flowers, that reads: _Me, Daddy, and Uncle Glasses_.

Seungyoon notices that all three are smiling, but his lips are a shade redder and brighter, which makes him smile unconsciously.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse you of robbing an art museum.” He adds when he sees her eyes rejoicing at his compliment, “It’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you for including me in it.”

She responds with a series of raptures and affection, involving a hug followed a childishly serious confession of “I like you” that plausibly warms his heart.

“That’s amazing. She doesn’t say that to many people,” Taehyun chimes in, almost too amused at the sight.

 

Though regretful that playtime is over, the girl obeys her father’s request, putting the picture on the fridge before retreating to her room to do homework. As the room transitions back to its silence, Seungyoon removes the tea bag out of his cup then takes the tiniest of sips; and to his surprise, the aftertaste is more pleasant than he has originally thought.

“That’s good to know,” replies Taehyun to Seungyoon’s compliment of the tea. “Hey, look,” continues he after some time, his voice tensed, “I know you want answers right now—and as much as I want to tell you—I can’t.”

Seungyoon looks up from the cup amid lifting it up to his mouth, waiting for Taehyun to finish his thoughts. He changes his mind and returns the cup to the table when the smoke fogs up his glasses.

“It’s just...too sudden right now. I don’t think I’m ready tell you.” Taehyun stammers a little bit between his words, but he manages to finish his sentence, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Seungyoon doesn’t reply immediately, considering the confession thoroughly: it wouldn’t _exactly_ be an exaggeration to assume that Seungyoon welcomes those words with disappointment. Nevertheless, truth is that he is somewhat contented with the other opening up to him with rather sincerity in his conduct. And for that, when he does reply to Taehyun he says it—though cryptically—with empathy glowing in his eyes and tone: “I understand.”

“That’s it?” says Taehyun, taken back by his kind expression. “Sorry, I was expecting you to be, like, I don’t know, biting my head off by now.”

“Well, I mean—I thought so, too,” admits Seungyoon, scratching his head in slight embarrassment. “But strangely my curiosity is outweighed by relief, seeing that you’re doing well like this.”

Taehyun looks at the other with gratitude, the corner of his mouth curving up a little.

“Doing well,” repeats Taehyun, chortling at the words to as to verify their silliness. “Oh god, I felt so bad,” he leans back into his chair, throwing his arms up in the air before bringing them back to his face and dragging them down in whimsy, “I’m nowhere _near_ being well-presented as you are.”

“What are you talking about?” interrupts Seungyoon, sneering at the other’s remarks. “You look fine.”

Taehyun, however, insists otherwise, pointing out how time has worn him down whereas the other remains as swell and well-groomed as he was back in the day—a statement to which Seungyoon protests vehemently.

“Don’t be stupid. I quit trying to tame my bedhead ages ago, and found out that glasses were, at the least, less bothersome than contacts. As for my attire—the only redeeming quality here, let’s be honest—it is for work and work only! Otherwise I look like a complete snob in my natural habitat.”

Taehyun can’t help but laugh at Seungyoon’s exaggerated gestures, pleased that this side of him hasn’t changed. The pauses between their conversation become more enjoyable now, and both feel nostalgically idiotic.

 

“What do you do now?” inquires Taehyun whilst watching Seungyoon makes him a cup of tea. “I assume that you’re not in the showbiz anymore, that is.”

“You assumed correctly,” assures Seungyoon, pouring water into the cup. “I teach music theory at a university.”

The conversation continues until one of them notices the sun has set considerably behind the buildings afar outside, only halting when Seungyoon illuminates the apartment with fluorescent lights while Taehyun goes to check up on his daughter. Afterwards they move the little tea party out to the balcony, making light remarks about the weather before Taehyun addresses his curiosity about the other WINNER members. To which Seungyoon admits so very regrettably that they aren’t in contact with each other as frequently as he once hoped they would be, but Taehyun finds it understandable as Seungyoon elaborates on his stories: for all have rather busy lives to attend to.

Song Minho is a name still well-known amongst the media, though nowadays more celebrated for his discovery of a painting material a few years back, when he was studying art aboard, than for his rapping career—a truth which both Seungyoon and Taehyun regard with the same pity.

“He recently published a book,” says Seungyoon after Taehyun mentions that he remembers seeing his name on the news a lot these days, though uncertain about the reason why. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unable to recall exactly the contents of the book, but he remembers it being well-received by the public. A news to which Taehyun greets with a smile.

Moreover, due to his frequent traveling, Seungyoon has not many chances to properly meet up with Minho, only greetings him through brief phone calls and emails.

(“If you think I look decent, then he is drop-dead gorgeous,” adds Seungyoon [shamelessly], with dramatic pauses in between. Taehyun wonders if it’s appropriate to laugh in reply to that remark, considering how awfully serious the other sounds.)

When Seungyoon talks about Kim Jinwoo he regards him with less fondness as he did with Minho, but the change is subtle enough that Taehyun doesn’t realize it. Or maybe it’s because he is as astonished as Seungyoon has anticipated he—or anyone, for that matter—would be when heard of Jinwoo’s story. Taehyun tries to wrap his mind around the idea of timid, merry Jinwoo running an agency, being terribly nitpicky and ordering his staff around, much like the CEO of their company once was back in the day (Seungyoon almost chokes on his tea at this comment). He repeats Seungyoon’s words—“President Kim”—several times until they no longer sound foreign on the tip of his tongue; the raconteur nods patiently in confirmation to his awe each time.

(Seungyoon starts another remark regarding Jinwoo, but he decides against it two words in and drops it completely; Taehyun also [conveniently] fails to notice this.)

He mentions Lee Seunghoon as the person he sees most frequently out of the three, since they live less than half an hour away, and one who, in his opinion, has changed the least out of all in both appearance and personality. He works as a choreographer under Jinwoo, but prior to that position he had established a dance studio; which is nowadays managed by his old students, and is very reputable among youngsters, especially passionate dancers.

“He personally trained his nephew’s dance team a few years ago. They breezed through regionals and sectionals, making their way into top 10 in nationals,” announces Seungyoon, almost too amused at the sight of Taehyun’s jaw dropping in admiration. “And he’s getting married soon. I got the invitation a few weeks ago.”

“That’s awesome!” exclaims Taehyun with a bright smile on his face.

“Have the other two also settled down?”

Seungyoon gives this a moment’s consideration before giving a pout on the lips and shake of the head. “There were some on and off relationships, but nothing too serious nor official as far as I know.”

“Hmm…I see,” says Taehyun, his chin propped in his palm, the look on his face rather smug, “What about you?”

“What about me?” replies Seungyoon. It’s only when he follows in direction of Taehyun’s gaze to his left hand, where a slim golden ring rests upon his finger, that he understands what it was he was indicating. His face turns a few shades paler.

“So?” teases Taehyun in oblivion. “Some lucky girl waiting for you at home?”

The indescribable blueness from earlier comes crashing back like violent tides and the air in his lungs becomes heavier, as if solidifying, weighing down by gravity like sacks of sand, making it harder to breathe.

Seungyoon confesses after some hesitation: “There used to be. We got divorced some time ago.”

The smile vanishes on Taehyun’s lips as he then realizes that Seungyoon’s hesitant smile wasn’t one of modesty or embarrassment, but rather one of great wistfulness. He watches the other twisting the ring around his finger wordlessly before reaching a hand across, and placing it against Seungyoon’s.

“Oh...I am so sorry...I didn’t know...”

“Don’t worry about it.” Seungyoon waves his hand dismissively. He raises his head up to the now dark sky, noticing that the stars are out rather early, “It’s quite infuriating how periodically she occupies my mind, though. I do try to forget about her, but fail epicly every time. And, dare I to be frank, it’s only difficult because I—” a sigh follows, “—I don’t want to.” There is a long pause before he turns his gaze back from the sky above to Taehyun’s attentive expression, chuckling wistfully:

“I know, I’m a mess. I probably sound like the most pathetic, pettiest thing right now.”

“Says who?”

“Say most people.”

“Then most people are fools,” Seungyoon is caught off guard by the other's words, as Taehyun’s grip on his hand becomes tighter. “You do whatever you want, Kang Seungyoon. Your heart is your vessel. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do with it. Don’t let anyone take ownership of it.

“Go miss the hell out of her and bawl your eyes out. Then later maybe go curse at a group of kids. Smash a few plates or something and go crazy if you feel like it. Just do whatever the heck you want. Don’t bottle things up,” says Taehyun, holding the other’s eyes steadily. “Let your heart be drenched of those toxic contents. And when it’s completely dry and empty, you can pick it up and polish it anew. Where there’s a crack, tape it up and time will take care of the rest, I promise you.”

Seungyoon says nothing, although, behind the light reflecting off his glasses, he seems to be stirred.

“I met this girl a lifetime ago. And despite of what others made of her, she was, to me, an awfully beautiful person. So when she left, it was completely devastating: I felt like the most miserable being on this world. And people kept pestering on and on about my ‘gloomy expression,’” says Taehyun, with quippish hand gestures. “So one day I told them to go to hell. Like, who were they to grant themselves the audacity to get so worked up over—what? My mouth not stretching up every freaking 2 seconds?—And then disallowed me to mourn over losing one of the few good things in my life, you know? But, um, yeah. Eventually one night I just stopped obsessing over it, and the 2 AM thoughts started disappearing one by one.

“Anyway, my point is that you are allowed to have bad days, Seungyoon-hyung. And even the worst one is only 24-hour long, so don’t droop too much. Get those feelings off your chest, but don’t forget to take care of your health. And don’t go around doing something illegal like drugs or assaulting people—trust me, not a good idea! If you need some assistance then, well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are willing to lend you a hand. Or a plate.” Taehyun smiles at the sound of Seungyoon’s laughter, “Smashing plates is so underrated, though. What a sad world we live in, don’t you think so?”

“How in the world did Minho-hyung write a book and not you?” remarks Seungyoon whimsically, the air in his lungs flowing a bit better.

 

He queries when all the laughter has subdued, though not knowing how to exactly phrase the sentence, “This woman you spoke of, is she…?”

“She is the mother, yes.” Taehyun admits with slight nods.

“I see. I am sorry things also didn’t work out between you two.”

“It’s alright, it was a long time ago. Plus, it’s not like all bad things came out of it.” He turns his head in the direction of the bedroom where his daughter resides, reading a book when he last checked up on her. Seungyoon follows his line of vision.

“Taehyun,” speaks Seungyoon after a while.

“Yes?”

“I know you said that you’re not ready—and I apologize for touching upon such a sensitive subject, but—where were you? After the disappearance?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a sip of his tea and thinks about it, trying to find a way to phrase his thoughts. “I was up in the mountainside. There were too many things happening at the moment, and I needed a break, so I wanted to go somewhere remote,” says Taehyun. Seungyoon can’t see his eyes clearly under the dim light, but he sees them tinged with melancholy rather than nostalgia. “I planned to return when my health was stable again, but that ended up taking years.” He ends with a regretful chuckle.

Seungyoon is curious about the sudden revelation of his health, but doesn’t inquire any further. “That’s all I wanted to know” is his last remark before changing the topic entirely.

 

They move the coffee table together with the chairs back inside after realizing how late it has gotten. Seungyoon offers to help washing the mugs before he leaves, but Taehyun doesn’t let him go near the sink. Instead, he takes the bespectacled man to the bedroom adjoining the living room to inform his daughter, who is now playing with her flute, of Seungyoon’s departure. She drops the instrument on the mattress and rushes to Seungyoon, giving him a hug. He gives her some general pieces of advice—ones about school and being well-mannered—before greeting her with an endearing look, promising to visit again.

When half of them is out in the hallway, and the other remaining on the other side of the door, both ready to bid goodbyes, Taehyun requests a favor out of the blue, “Please, don’t tell the others about today.” His fingers brush over where his face burns, “I don’t want anyone see me in this state.”

“I won’t,” Seungyoon assures him—and though slightly appalled by the request, he maintains his composure. “But, Taehyun, I do ask of you to talk to them.”

He interrupts when Taehyun starts saying something. “Remember that you _do_ owe all of us an explanation or two; and that, even though I understand that you have your reasons, what you’re doing is very unfair to us—all of us. And unlike me, the others may not have the patience and sympathy to wait around in the dark any longer; life has drained so much out of them already.” A melancholy sigh follows, which suggests Taehyun that perhaps Seungyoon has spared him of many disheartening details during their conversation.

“I think that this thing,” continues Seungyoon, “going on between the five of us, it has been hindering everyone for so long now (though we tend to tell ourselves otherwise). For you and I to meet up like this, 13 years later, in the most unexpected of circumstances, it must mean something; I strongly believe that, and I know you do, too.

“Now you have a chance to make a choice, so—take your time to set things straight in your mind first, of course— and afterwards, whatever you choose, please, Taehyun, do the right thing.”

 

Seungyoon departs after saying goodnight.

 

Taehyun leans against the door of the bedroom, watching the little girl sound asleep. He notes the stable raising of her chest until the lights go off. Her hair black hair cascades around the white sheets like ripples in a pond, her cheeks rosy, her face peaceful. He remembers doing the same thing to his former bandmates before: entering their rooms as discreetly as possible so as not to wake anyone up, making sure everyone was safe and sound in their deep, sweet dreams; and savouring their peaceful features in his mind. He dismisses the recollection of what happened afterwards.

He returns to the couch, sitting at the edge where the moonlight reaches, after extinguishing the light in the bedroom and closing the door behind him. He stares at the card Seungyoon gave him, noting where his office is and the duration of his office hours. On the other side of the card is a scribbled number, to which Seungyoon has requested him to call if he ever wants to talk more. Taehyun doesn’t turn the card over. He leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, reviewing the day, his meeting with Seungyoon. He thinks about the word “WINNER.” And its lost meaning. The silence becomes heavy upon his face, scraping the surface his moonlit eyelids, but he continues digging back up the memories of 13 years ago and prior to which. He thinks about what Seungyoon has warned him about at the doorway, about doing "the right thing." He was correct in stating the bizarreness of the situation, and in affirming that Taehyun doesn’t believe it as something coincidental.

Yet what _is_ the right thing to do? He doesn’t have the answer, but, apparently, he has the choices laid out at the tip of his fingers: either leave the wounds to time to continue their healing process; or grotesquely and cruelly rip open them—all four identical, old wounds—five, if he includes his own—and hope that, with some miracle, he might be able to mend the cuts back anew.

At one point he seeps into his sleep, only awakened shortly after by the burning of his eyelids when the sun casts its first of beams on his face. He recalls having a dream he has not had since long, a dream about a labyrinth: one vast and endless; half of it is gilded, the other shadowy.

He has always been stuck in one side, alone and isolated. No matter how much he tries, he cannot make his way to the other half.

This time was no different.

He wonders if any of his friends (he pauses himself at the thought, giving the word choice some fleet pondering) has ever the had such a dream—or one similar to it—but he dismisses the thought, as he brings a hand up to brush off the dampness upon his cheekbone.

 

*

 

Amidst the speedy typing of the keyboard, Seungyoon flinches at the sound of his phone vibrating against the desk. He reaches his arm across piles of paperwork for it, slightly annoyed that his thought process was cut off.

But the furrow in his brows relaxes almost immediately as he reads off the message on the screen: Nam Taehyun finally contacts him for the first time since their reunion precisely 20 days ago.


End file.
